


Utter Guff and Nonsense

by TyrantChimera



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cloud is done with your shit, Gen, Gift Fic, M/M, Multi, blame Kingdom Hearts, if you're wondering why his wings look like that, jobs that deal with the public suck, unofiicial sequel, wing fic, wing!fic, winged!cloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27218689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyrantChimera/pseuds/TyrantChimera
Summary: When things went wrong for Cloud Strife, they went WRONG. Wings aren't all they're cracked up to be. Unofficial sequel/gift fic for "Utter Fluff and Nonsense" by AssortedGeekery.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	Utter Guff and Nonsense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AssortedGeekery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssortedGeekery/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Utter Fluff and Nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647107) by [AssortedGeekery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssortedGeekery/pseuds/AssortedGeekery). 



When things went wrong for Cloud Strife, they went WRONG.

When it rains it pours, or so they say. But when you were named Cloud Strife, trouble didn't just turn into a downpour. It turned into a downright typhoon. Either his mother had named him all too accurately, or the gods above saw his name and saw an opportunity for the sort of mischief only immortals (or preteen Wutaiian ninjas) could think of.

The morning had started with a fight. The aerie of four SOLDIERs plus him had all jumped to a start with Genesis's screech, he'd gotten accidentally kicked out of the bed, and before he could fuss they'd shoved Cloud from the room (to 'protect him', they all muttered unconvincingly), to the tune of snarking and snapping wings, all because someone had slept in a wrong position and pulled on someone else's bloodfeather or something, or who knows what. Cloud couldn't even justify barging his way back in because he had approximately 10 minutes to get breakfast and get down to his patrol, because someone else had oh-so-conveniently turned off an alarm to sneakily bolster snuggle time.

So, not only was he very nearly late (again!) for a reactor patrol, said reactor patrol almost immediately turned into the biggest SNAFU since the day SOLDIERs suddenly started popping out extra limbs, complete with all the chaotic and destructive exuberance of a bomb monster that had a gunpowder snorting addiction. A very not-monster version of a bomb had been found near the reactor controls, disarmed, another one elsewhere had gone off anyways just for kicks, and Cloud had to escort various employees and civilians out of range of the dangerously-close-to-exploding reactor as they all told him just what they thought about how he and everyone else on his patrol had failed at their jobs, how the upper management was going to hear about their incompetence, yadda yadda yadda. All this, of course, with him splattered in a fuck-off amount of mako covering his body, because the rusty old pipes of the reactor hadn't been happy with him either once the second bomb went off. They'd cracked, shattered, and showered him in a wonderfully caustic cocktail of mako and misery. It burned, it made him woozy, and it made it really, REALLY hard not to take his rifle and whack that one damn admin over the head just to shut him up.

Cloud had had enough.

His superior, bless the man, FINALLY gave him a break, because even he could see where this was going if he didn't let Cloud go take a breather. Cloud took that break running. The Nibel blonde dropped his gun, then practically ripped his helmet off his head as he tossed that to the side as well. Stomp stomp stomp he went down an alley, furious and sickly. He kicked a trash can because he could. Because he was M-A-D, with a capital FURIOUS, and if he didn't do some mild, cathartic vandalism soon, something was going to snap. He was so angry, he felt sick.

Like. Literally.

The next thing he knew he was on his knees, puking up breakfast, yesterday's dinner and lunch, and an organ or two just for kicks. His skin still burned from the mako, his mouth, throat, and even nasal cavity were burning from stomach acid and this was, of course, the exact moment that one of the more exuberant members of the SOLDIER fan clubs found him, recognized him as the trooper that had been hanging around her beaus, and decided that she was certainly not above kidnapping him to get her and her clique some brownie points (or blackmail) with their heroes.

So there he was, tied up as some member of the Silver elite hummed and 'took care of him' as he was trussed up to the nines. One of them was on her phone, calling who knows who. Cloud couldn't even spit the verbal fire and fury he was known for because of how ill he felt. Everything hurt, everything burned, everything was soreness or pain or frustrating beyond belief, and Cloud Strife honestly couldn't decide whether or not it was possible for anything to get worse.

This is, of course, when the gods hit him with the punchline.

Pain. Pain, pain, more pain, and a little extra pain on the side just for kicks. He started to scream and squirm, yelling something he was in too much agony to comprehend. One of the fans actually had a brain somewhere and he was suddenly free of whatever they'd used to tie him up. Something burst from his back. Blood splattered, and everything began burning anew because he was still covered in mako, some of it sticky on his half-dried skin, some of it heavy as it soaked through the ripped uniform that draped over his skinny frame.

The fans began running. About goddamn time, thought Cloud, because there wasn't anything else in his brain but pain, fury, and a burning itch everywhere. He struck out randomly, someone yelled in a familiar voice, and he didn't care because he was angry and hurt and nothing made any sort of sense other than the instinct to attack everything nearby in self defense.

So that's what he did. He lashed out with the new limbs.

“Ouch! Wait! What the hell!? They have CLAWS?!?”

Claws. Wings. Whatever the fuck the things were attached to his back, they hurt. Someone grabbed him in a vice grip, he struck out again, and everything started to go dark. Maybe it was from pain, or blood loss, or maybe it was because he was being held so tight that he couldn't breathe. Whatever it was, he embraced it. He let the world go black.

When he awoke, he was laid down on a familiar rug, squishy and smelling of the people he'd come to know and love. Or love to hate, hard to tell sometimes. He was wrapped in blankets and smothered in pillows, and could smell hot chocolate being made in the kitchen (the GOOD kind, the kind that you made on the stove with milk and cocoa). Cloud took stock of himself and his surroundings, slowly stretching his limbs and testing how much strength he had in them.

That's when he noticed, TRULY noticed, the pair of wings on his back. A pillow was knocked aside as he turned to look at one of the waggling, heavy lumps of flesh that had decided to anchor themselves to his shoulderblades. He promptly blanched.

Wings. He had wings. And good goddess, they were UGLY.

Cloud glared at the mess of blackish fluff and quill-like protrusions, immediately angry that no, of course he couldn't just shoot out fully formed and beautiful wings like everyone else. Not only did he have to deal with the pain of wings ripping out his back, he had to deal with the humiliation of having immature ones as well!

“Looks like our little baby bird is up,” he heard Genesis drawl pleasantly, and maybe he would have appreciated the warmth in that tone a little more if he wasn't so goddamn pissed off right now. He felt Genesis's fingers lightly touch some of the ratty pin feathers on his new limbs, and whipped out the wing defensively on reflex. He immediately regretted it a little when he heard Genesis hiss in pain. “They really weren't kidding about the claws, were they?”

Suddenly someone else was grabbing one of his wings by said claws, gently spreading the appendage out for all to see. Cloud might have been a little more offended at the random touching, but it was Zack, who they all knew was handsy anyways. Zack also had a very nice mug of hot chocolate held towards him as a peace offering, so Cloud didn't protest. He did, however, stare at the little talon that Zack had coaxed out from under the developing plumage of his right wing, a claw that was now wrapping itself around Zack's thumb like a newborn's finger might grasp at its parent.

“Aww man, look at it! It's so cool. You're like a little baby dragon. I'll bet you'll be able to grab all sorts of stuff with 'em!” Zack's grin soon turned into a pout however, “Why didn't I get claws too? Aww.”

“Perhaps because of his method of gaining Jenova cells,” came a voice. It was Vincent, popping in from literally nowhere and startling them all as usual, “Unlike the rest of you, he gained a large amount of Jenova cells before he was exposed to mako, or rather, had a much higher initial concentration of cells compared to the amount of mako first received. It seems this affected the physiology of his wings, making them different from the rest of you.” He blankly observed them as they all gathered themselves. Blood red eyes flat yet mirthful.

Genesis growled, “Not that I don't appreciate the commentary, but why are you here all of a sudden? And for the love of Minerva, HOW DO YOU KEEP GETTING IN.”

Vincent just smirked, turned around, and left. He opened the door to the home just in time to reveal Sephiroth, who had just reached for the knob with keys in hand. They stared at each other. Vincent nodded congenially, and left. Sephiroth continued to stare, frozen in position. Then he blinked, entering their abode as if nothing at all untoward had just occurred. Angeal, who entered right behind him, was not as willing to let the matter drop quite yet.

“How does he keep sneaking in...?” He muttered, but there was no answer forthcoming from anyone else in the home, nor the the enigmatic Turk casually traipsing into the distance.

Sephiroth just shook his head, instead returning to the conversation that his enhanced hearing had no doubt picked up even through the door, “I'm almost surprised they didn't grow in sooner. We should have known he'd have some sort of wings, what with the amount of Jenova he apparently exposed himself to back in Nibelheim.”.

Cloud snapped, “Like hell I was letting Zack and Vincent have all the fun maiming that bitch,” and flapped his very ungainly wings to emphasize the point. Unfortunately for Cloud's ego, the action was less like the graceful spreading of feathers that the SOLDIERs would often display, and more like watching sodden, uncooked pizza dough get thrown about by a two year old who fancied themselves a chef. Gods, he did NOT have fine motor control down-pat yet. Not even close.

Angeal cooed. He cooed like a damn pidgeon. The broad man tried very hard to conceal it of course, to protect Cloud's pride if nothing else, but the initial outburst had escaped him anyways and they'd all heard it.

“Is is oddly endearing, isn't it?” Genesis smirked, and spread one of his own wings out as if to tuck Cloud underneath.

“Oh screw you.”

Later, Cloud's wings would drop their dusty-looking baby down, and instead grow out sleek black quills that looked like a fluffy, yet sharp-edged shadow. They would reflect so little light that looking at them would be like looking at a void instead of a limb, making onlookers wonder if there really was a wing there, or just some eldritch idea of an appendage that was somehow there existing-yet-not instead. They would be ragged, draconic, covered in hair-like protofeathers and edges that you couldn't tell whether or not they were smooth or sharp until they cut you or they didn't. Perhaps they wouldn't be the best for flight, but... the agility they allowed would make them the envy of the entirety of SOLDIER, because not only could he use them to attack and buffet foes like the other SOLDIERs, he could slash or grab or snag or even cling to ceilings and objects like a bat.

But for now, Cloud just grumbled. He used that oh-so-envious claw to snag the edge of a blanket and snapped it over himself, burying himself in bedding once more. Who cares if it made his housemates coo at him again. Who cares if he was in a goddamn literal blanket nest (and enjoying it). Cloud was Grumpy, and Tired, and today could go die in a hole.


End file.
